


What He Never Told Them

by ejokes



Category: Monsters & Other Childish Things (Roleplaying Game), Mrs. Frieda's Halfway Home for Terrible and Freakish Children, The Drunk and The Ugly
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flashbacks, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Humans In Troll Romances, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejokes/pseuds/ejokes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George does not have a black crush. Having a 'crush' implies that you have yet to do anything about it. George has, in fact, been doing things about it. Nele's just playing hard to get.</p>
<p>But then George pushes a little too far, and certain events from the supersoldier's past come back to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Left Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> While this contains some allusions to sex and mentions of sex, there is no actual sex in it, hence the T rating. If, later on, I do end up writing a sex scene, or if people think that what is currently written warrants a higher rating (and if they tell me so), it will be upped to M.
> 
> This is written assuming that Homestuck troll romance is natural for humans.

George always seemed to lose focus in the middle of arguments with Nele.

Not lose focus on Nele himself, per say, but lose focus on the words he was saying and what exactly they were fighting about. He always focused on Nele, just the wrong things about him.

He didn’t mind losing focus, really. It was just another thing to hate Nele over, and even though he could never run out of reasons to hate him, another one wasn’t a terrible thing. After all, how many times did Nele _really_ need to bring up his own problems when everyone else had just as many, if not more? Why did he constantly feel the need to include Etsu in every conversation, as if they were still ‘partners’? (Because they _weren’t_.) The asshole never seemed to grasp social interactions of any kind, even when they were practically being shoved in his face. He narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy.

They were alone in George’s bedroom, seeing as Manny was at Caleb’s place and Scott was in the library, most likely making out with Emma. This fight between him and Nele was probably the last thing that any of them would have wanted to happen, really, but they weren't here now to prevent it, and a single comment from Nele had sparked George’s hatred for the other boy. He had responded, and soon they were so close they were almost touching (it was always _almost_ with Nele: _almost_ touching, _almost_ punching, and _almost_ making out. George was sick of _almost_ ), practically spitting their insults and retorts in each other’s faces. George loomed over the other boy, but Nele’s muscled bulk and threatening, yet almost emotionless gaze seemed to level the playing field. That was fine. Black wasn’t black without equal ground. George would have been yelling at him, but this was _something_ , _finally_ , and he didn't want to ruin it. After weeks of their friends separating them (the sneaky, spade-blocking bastards couldn’t see past their clubs obsession), this was _release_ , and he wasn’t going to spoil their moment by attracting attention to their fight.

He wanted this. He wanted this so badly.

He knew that he needed to test the waters first. With Nele as emotionally stunted as he was, he had no idea how he would react to an open advance, like the one he was planning. He was going to _try_ for it, but not push that far. Maybe. If he could control himself. Which wasn’t too likely. One way or another, he was going to see Nele squirm.

So the moment that he walked in the room and saw Nele alone, he had known that he had to make his move now. He might not get another chance to antagonize Nele like this, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity that had been so carelessly thrown in his lap. He had only intended to get him riled up. Maybe drop some hints or even outright _say it_.

But he could never keep his cool around Nele. The bastard. (He had called him that, and the former soldier had simply responded with something along the lines of ‘I did not have a mother or father. I was cloned.’ Emotionless asshole.)

So he lost control. The guy just… wouldn’t shut up about Etsu and Manny and Emma and he was dredging up all these old issues that had been buried for so long and he just wanted to slam his face into the floor and…

Oh, did he want Nele on the floor.

George wanted him to be cut and bruised and to fight like a caged animal. He wanted to feel his punches and scratches and deal wounds back tenfold. He wanted to hold him down and make him cry, his father’s lighter pressed into his arm… And his stomach, and his thigh. He wanted to taste Nele’s blood and have Nele drink his. He wanted Nele underneath him, trying to escape but slowly realizing that he would never be able to; that George was better than him. That George _had_ always and _would_ always be better than him. He wanted to drain every last bit of anger and passion from the other boy until he was an empty husk, just to let more hatred fester. And oh, when it did, when the hatred grew into a monstrosity, George would leave and Nele would run after him, begging for more.

And he would give it to him gladly. He would fuck him hard into the wall, because Nele didn’t deserve a bed or any semblance of comfort. He would pound him hard until he was finished, and Nele would still beg. And it would be such a triumph to hear those words forced from between Nele’s teeth as-

George snapped back to reality as the Nele in front of him snarled something at him in a deep, throaty growl that he really should not have been able to produce. “You think that you’re the best. That you’re the king of the world. But we both know that you’re just an arrogant, self-centred child looking for attention. You didn’t get it from your mother so you looked for it in Condor, and now that well is running dry.”

George was focused on the way Nele’s lips pulled back to reveal his teeth in a primal snarl as he spoke, but then he registered what the words meant, and suddenly he was grabbing hold of Nele’s shirt and using it to pull him even closer. He raised his voice slightly. “Shut up about my mother! Just because you never had a family doesn’t mean that you can talk shit about mine.” He cocked his head to the side, considering the boy in his grasp mockingly. “Oh right, I forgot. You did have a family. But they abandoned you, didn’t they?”

George relished the feeling of Nele’s fist making contact with his face.

“They didn’t abandon me!” Nele’s voice was louder now, and he pulled back to take another swing, this time at George’s ribs. He coughed as it connected and released Nele to clutch at his midsection. He’d forgotten that, no matter his size, Nele had formal training, and he didn’t. “You don’t know anything about them!” He moved to the side to avoid a kick that whooshed by him with surprising force. George smirked, and then began to fight back.

Fighting with Nele was nothing like scuffling with Manny. Fighting with Manny was all about knowing just when to pull your punches, knowing exactly how much he could take without actually being injured. Wrestling with Manny was about teaching him leverage. It was about giving him experience so that he wouldn’t snap and give in to his instincts.

Fighting with Nele was a battle for dominance (a battle of strength and cunning). Nele was a trained fighter, someone who knew how use the arm following a punch as a tool to bring their opponent to the floor. Fighting with him was violent and messy (a grapple around his waist to topple him, a sharp elbow to the face that snapped his head back, eyes seeing stars, then pitch black spades). There was no time for analysing the situation; he was too fast (a flurry of punches to George’s face and gut that sent him crashing into a dresser). This fight was about using the space you had to your advantage (grinding Nele’s face into the carved wood surface). It was full-body, no-holds-barred, punch-until-his-blood-coated-your-hands fighting, and Nele complied with all those rules. He was trying to make George hurt in every way, never missing an opening, face growing grimmer and angrier the longer they fought.

No, fighting with Nele was no scuffle on the roof. It was filled with blood and rage and harried breathing and pain. Glorious, hate-fueled pain that George shoved to the back of his mind the moment Nele glared him in the eyes, daring him to make one more move.

George was never one to refuse a dare. Especially one posed by Nele and backed by the promise of pain at his hands. Nele’s eyes (full of fire and hatred and a single-minded determination that George both somewhat admired and couldn’t stand at the same time) dared him. So he obliged.

This fight didn’t end with a mutual truce. This fight ended with George on top, straddling Nele’s chest and pinning him to the wooden floorboards of the bedroom. Their harsh breathing mingled as George pinned his arms. No matter what the soldier did, the fight was done, and he knew it. Still he glared defiantly up at George, who had blood oozing from his nose and a large scratch on his cheek from a very intimate encounter with a bedpost. He smirked down at Nele. At the wounds he had caused. A cut by his temple slowly bled into his hair, matting the black strands together, while a nasty split lip stained his teeth pink when he snarled up at George. His smirk grew into an almost feral grin. Oh _yes_ , he _liked_ this. This power he had over the so-called ‘super soldier’. He _really_ liked this.

Pinning both of Nele’s wrists with one hand, he punched the boy beneath him one more time, because he felt like it and because he _could_. Nele’s head snapped to the left. Slowly, he worked his tongue around his mouth and spat red onto the floor before turning his head to glare up at George again.

“What now?” The dark, whisper-soft tone made George shiver, and he scowled. How dare Nele think that he could do things like that to him while George was the one on top? _He_ had all the power, not Nele. George wrapped a hand around his neck, squeezing threateningly and narrowing his eyes. Nele continued, and though his voice was softer, it still carried all the menace in his eyes and more. “Are you going to kill me George?”

George (loving the way that Nele spat his name like a curse) removed his hand from Nele’s neck, moving it to rest in his hair, almost gently. “No, Nele. I’m not going to kill you.” His hand suddenly gripped the short black strands fiercely. “I’m going to do this.” Then he kissed him.

Kiss was probably too soft a word, actually.

George crashed their lips together, pulling on Nele’s hair to move him closer as they knocked teeth and noses. Nele had been panting, and George used that gap to wedge his tongue in between Nele’s teeth, probing inside his mouth and feeling Nele’s own tongue move sharply away from his. _Yes_. George thought. _Yes_. _I have him_. He plundered Nele’s mouth, savoring the taste of blood from cuts that he had caused, sucking on his tongue, biting his lip to spill more of the red liquid. _Mine_. He barely paused for breath, simply ravaged the other boy’s mouth for as long as he could. _I **own** him_.

For the first while, Nele was unresponsive, eyes wide, shocked and confused as George kissed him, and then he began struggling, fighting against the larger boy.

George wasn’t moving until he was good and sated. He had waited far too long for this moment, and he wasn’t letting it be taken from him until he was good and ready. He held Nele’s head in place by his hair.

Oh yes. This was what he wanted. This was what he _needed_. _Yes_. The feeling of Nele struggling underneath him, all efforts futile. This was _exquisite_. The soldier was trapped, and he still struggled, stubborn as always. George growled, tugging at the black hair between his fingers, moving his tongue ever deeper into the other boy’s mouth. It drew a small sound from Nele, and George pressed his advantage. Eventually, he decided, Nele would scream for him. He would enjoy forcing the usually taciturn boy to yell his name.

Nele bit down on his tongue, enough to cause pain, but _just_ the right amount. George groaned. Holy _fuck_. Maybe he wouldn’t have to take his time with this? Nele couldn’t be inexperienced with these things, not with the way he was reacting. Maybe he could just… He pressed himself more firmly against Nele, sliding ungracefully down his body until first their chests met, then their hips-

He pulled his mouth away from Nele’s with an obscene wet sound, breathing heavy and smirking. He opened his mouth to comment on the obvious bulge he could feel in Nele’s pants.

And then Scott opened the door.

The blond boy let out a startled squawk when he saw the two of them on the ground. The windowpanes rattled. “George! Nele!”

Nele took advantage of this distraction instantly. George felt him surge upwards with a burst of power and then he was flipped over, their previous position reversed. Nele was a solid weight on George’s chest, and George knew that he had been right. His hatred for the other boy was mutual. (He found that he liked the idea of Nele being on top, all stern eyes and commander’s voice and fierce scars. Blackrom was all about rivalry, he reasoned with the side of his brain that wanted Nele always under him, and if there was no challenge it wasn’t kismesissitude. Maybe he had been taught torture techniques? That would be interesting…)

George found himself leering up at Nele, daring him to cement his position in front of Scott, who still stood in the doorway, looking shocked and blushing fiercely (not that George had spared him more than that first glance when he had opened the door; his eyes had been too busy imagining Nele without the nuisance of clothes). The black-haired boy’s eyes were wide, hands hanging limp at his sides, and his chest heaved furiously as he gulped down air. George found his gaze drawn to the plump redness of Nele’s mouth, and the small bead of blood welling up from the split in his bottom lip. He nearly groaned when Nele’s tongue darted out to swipe away the red liquid, holding it back through sheer willpower. Instead, he reached up to grab the other boy’s shirt and pull him down. It really was bad form for him to not restrain his arms.

But as George reached for him, Nele (who had just been sitting there staring at him) suddenly moved, punching him in the face and making him bang his head hard against the floor once more, before he jolted back and away, falling off of George before quickly coming up to stand at the other end of the small room. His eyes flickered from George to Scott, who was still standing, slack-jawed, in the doorway. His breathing began to pick up speed, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. George stared, uncomprehending, at Nele, who he was sure, not moments before, was going to fucking kiss him back. Then his stare turned into a glare as he saw what Nele was doing. He was back to playing hard to get! Well, George had had more than enough of that, and now that he had tasted his spade, he was _not_ going to just lie down and take this fucking _teasing_ anymore. “Nele,” he growled, and the boy jerked his head to stare at him, “What-”

“George, stop.” Still on the floor, George turned to look at Scott, who had taken a step into the room, hand still on the doorknob. His other hand was held palm out towards Nele, who still stood in the corner.

“Scott, what-” he started, but Scott once more cut him off.

“Nele,” he said firmly, but gently, “Calm down and come here.”

Oh that was _it_. He had almost had him! _Almost_! He was sick and tired of this constant separation of the two of them, and he wasn’t going to take it lying down. He started to get up from the floor, eyes not leaving Nele, a snarl still caught in the back of his throat.

Then Nele was shoving him back down onto the floor, his voice just on the border between speaking and yelling when he said, “Stay away from me!” and then he was shouldering his way past Scott and bolting out the door.

George made to follow, but Scott’s eyes were unnaturally stern when he barred the door. “No. You’re not going after him.” For once, his voice didn’t waver.

“What?” George stared at him, then narrowed his eyes as Scott didn’t drop his gaze, simply stepped forward to be out of the way of the door as he closed it behind him. George had never really noticed how threatening Scott’s yellow eyes could be. “Move, Scott. I’m sick of all of you and your club-dazzled eyes! Not interested!” He tried to shove the boy out of the way, but Scott refused to be moved.

“You’re not going anywhere, George. You’re going to stay here, and we’re going to wait for Emma to come up so that one of us can keep an eye on you while the other calls Manny back here. Then we are all going to sit down and have a conversation that should have happened a long time ago.”

 

 


	2. +1 Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some old memories come to light for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong allusions to pedophilia and sexual abuse in this chapter, along with Nele freaking out because of said mentions.

Nele was practically running as he moved away from the room at the end of the hall. Actually he was running, he just didn't want to admit that _George_ of all people had managed to get the jump on him. Literally.

_(Hands everywhere, pushing and pulling and pinning him down and hurting and-)_

He hurtled around corners and almost tripped down the stairs when he reached them. He had to get out of the house. He needed air. Why was there no air in here? Some corner of his mind vaguely realized that he was hyperventilating, but the remainder of him was still focused on the way George had attacked him in the room.

_(A sickly sweet voice that threatened retribution and praised and swore and bit into him with words-)_

He ran down to the second floor, not stopping in time to avoid slamming into the wall at the bottom, but shook it off and swung himself around the banister to begin pounding down the next flight of stairs.

He stopped briefly when he saw Emma standing on the stairs to the first floor, a few books in hand. She looked up at him and smiled. “Hey Nele.”

_(A hand touching his shoulder lightly as he completed another painful push-up, sweat running into his eyes. “Hey Nele.” He blinked salty liquid away.)_

Emma frowned and climbed a few steps closer. Nele was shaking, and he had no doubt that his pupils were blown wide as he gasped for air. There wasn’t enough _air_.

“Nele, are you okay?”

_(“…okay?” Nell looked across the room at him, a few strands of her short hair falling into her face as she stretched. Nele focused his eyes back on the ceiling, puffing out a breath as he pushed the barbell up, then lowered it and raised it again. He didn't respond until the bar was resting back in its troughs. His hands still gripped it tightly._

_“Yes.” He was fine, really. So what if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately? It was no big deal. And if it helped Nell, all the better. She was too emotional. But he could handle it.)_

There was silence for a moment, where each time he blinked Emma’s face was overlaid by his sister’s.

_(Pain and agony and shame and…_

_He wasn't clueless. The colonel had taught them about the world, about laws and why they were what they were and this man – this_ monster _-)_

He clapped both hands to his head and grimaced as the memories sped before his eyes. His breath only became more ragged. He had to get out of here. Darting past Emma, Nele jumped the few remaining stairs to the lobby, only vaguely hearing her call his name after him. Then he burst through the doors and was outside, tripping down the steps to the ground with none of his usual grace. He gulped down deep lungfuls of air, but it wasn't enough. He turned back to the halfway home to look up at the window of their room. The sun glinted off the glass.

_(Nele made sure to face away from the one-way mirror as he practiced his forms. The order he had been given rang through his mind again and he scowled, then schooled his expression as he recalled the threat the Doctor had spat at him after. He continued his forms slowly and tried not to think about the man on the other side of the glass.)_

He couldn't stay here.

He picked a direction and started jogging. To where he had no clue. He just needed to go somewhere that wasn't here. He began to sprint. Physical activity had always helped him before. The memories followed him away from the halfway home.

_(His breath came in short, shallow puffs as he wound his way around the track. Their family had been given free choice of their training activities that day, following a mission debriefing. Nele had been called to a… private meeting with Dr. Gabriel, but he had managed to get it over with quickly and had returned to the training area for a run. He hadn't stopped for seventy five minutes._

_He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and he didn't have to look back to know that they belonged to Nell, her strides much stronger and her breath coming much easier than his own. She ran up beside him and they fell into step with each other seamlessly, despite his tiredness. She was a silent presence at his side._

_This was how it usually was. The two of them may not have actually been related in any_ traditional _sense of the word, but there was only a five-number variance between their designations. That was the closest gap between any of the other living Cherubs, so they may as well have been the twins they said they were. Nele sometimes resented the five-number gap that made him susceptible to the ‘I’m older, listen to me’ speech coming from her, but she was his sister. He was her brother. They were family._

_Whenever he saw her nowadays he was reminded of why he was doing what he was doing._

_They jogged in relative silence for a moment more, before Nell spoke. “You know,” she said, and it was a testament to just how far and long Nele had been running that he actually stumbled a little, but he recovered quickly and continued at the same pace. She waited for their steps to sync once more before she continued speaking. “You've been on the track for more than an hour.”_

_Nele grunted and nodded sharply. She was right. She had stated a fact. There was nothing he needed to say in response to that._

_Nell was silent for a while, and Nele found his vision narrowing to the lane painted on the track in front of him. He tried to regain control of his breathing and blink away the stars encroaching on his vision._

_“If you keep going you’ll end up collapsing.” Her tone was light and matter-of-fact, yet slightly annoyed, as if she was telling him about her gun jamming during target practice._

_Nele grunted again. Another statement of fact. He_ would _eventually collapse if he kept going. His body, however well-engineered or well-trained it was, would eventually refuse to move another inch. As it was, he was currently moving mostly thanks to willpower._

_The pair rounded a corner in the track, Nell on the outside. This was the farthest point away from all of the one-way mirrors that looked onto the training area, and here, Nell spoke again, quietly. “I’m concerned, Nele.”_

_They took another lap of the track before Nele tried to respond, in the same small pocket of distance and relative privacy from possible spectators. “Why?” It was all he could manage to gasp out through his haggard windpipe, and the word scraped like sandpaper as it came out. He coughed and swallowed a few times, but it did nothing for his throat._

_“Because you've been pushing yourself too far.” Nele almost fell again as Newt’s voice came from his other side. He glanced over at the older Cherub, startled. He hadn't even noticed him run to join them. Granted, Newt was Newt, but he wasn't exactly sneaking up on them. The three continued to run, the whole track ringing with their co-ordinated footsteps._

_Nele remained silent, determined to outlast this questioning. He was fine. So what if he pushed himself harder in training? So what if there was an almost constant pain in his backside and legs? He was tough. He was a supersoldier. He was a Cherub. He could handle it._

_Plus, who would believe him if he said anything anyways? Doing so would only be detrimental to himself and his family. He would not risk Nell’s safety. Newt might be able to deal with the harsh reality of the situation, but putting Nell in his position by revealing anything would be something he could never live with. “I’m fine.” His steps were getting uneven, and he was falling out of sync with his siblings. Still he kept going._

_Then Nell grabbed his arm and pulled him to a sudden stop, swinging him towards her. Her eyes were narrowed and she was frowning at him. “No you’re not!” He didn’t respond quickly enough for her liking, and she grabbed his shoulder with her other hand and shook him. “I know you Nele. I’m your sister, and I know when you are_ not _fine!” She paused, “And right now you are anything_ but _fine!”_

_Newt said nothing, but he too put a hand on Nele’s shoulder. Nell’s eyes searched his frantically, and he opened his mouth to reassure her again._

_Instead, his legs, no longer being given a purpose (and with his pelvis still somewhat sore), finally collapsed under him, and he would have crumpled to the floor had Newt not caught hi-)_

“Nele!”

He was jolted from his memories by a voice calling his name, and he glanced up from his feet. He was still running. There were trees on either side of him, lining the dirt road he was on, and he blinked in surprise. Where was he? How far had he ran? He was shaking and panting, chest still heaving. The scent of the forest pervaded everything, and Nele realized that it was drizzling lightly. He was soaked.

He looked back down at his feet. He was still running, sort of. His feet moved doggedly forward, seemingly of their own accord, and his arms stayed limp by his sides. He frowned. Everything seemed… off. He blinked. His feet continued moving. The ground was… fuzzy (but not really, he thought distractedly. The ground wasn't _actually_ fuzzy, he was using a metaphor to describe it), and he couldn't really hear his feet hitting the packed dirt beneath him as he all but stumbled along. He also couldn't hear the heavy breaths he was taking. He could _feel_ those though. Each one felt like he was inhaling glass shards. They slowly scraped down his throat, tumbled about inside him, destroying his lungs, then tore their way back out.

He wondered what would happen if he just… stopped breathing. Would the glass go away?

“Nele! Dude, stop!”

Someone was talking to him. Who was talking to him? He turned to look in the direction the voice came from, and caught sight of a figure coming up behind him on the road. The next second the world was tilting and then something hard impacted the entire right side of his body and stayed there.

“Holy shit! Nele!” the voice called for him again.

His eyes rocketed around in their sockets. He had… fallen over? His breath was still coming hard and fast and he vaguely noticed that he was shaking violently all over. He tried to move his arm, but found that he couldn’t. It was twitching, but not responding to his commands. What was happening? He felt cold wetness soak into his body from the ground. His fingers twitched in mud, and the rain pattered against his left cheek.

A second voice echoed softly after the first. “Oh my god! Nele!”

He couldn't do much to respond.

Then there was pressure on his shoulder and he was pushed over onto his back, the world still spinning around him. He squinted into the light drizzle. There were two faces above him, but they swam in and out of focus.

“Dude? Nele? Hey, you okay?” There was a pause as he tried to grasp the meaning of the words, mind still far up North, in the underground facility where- “It’s Manny, dude. Hey, can you hear me?” The voice wavered between being too loud and barely audible. Manny. Manny was here. Manny was with him.

He felt burning shame creep up to the forefront of his mind. This was wrong. This was oh, so wrong. _He_ was supposed to be the strong one, looking after Manny. This reversal of roles was wrong. He was supposed to be Manny’s guardian angel. His protector. And he had failed.

_(-struggled to free herself-)_

He had failed. He always failed.

_(-screamed insults at her captor as he-)_

Why could he never do anything right?

_(-forced to watch as-)_

Why was he always too _weak_ , too _stupid,_ too _pathetic_ to do _anything_ right?

_(“-see what you’ve done, Nele? Look what happens when you don’t follow orders!”)_

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from Manny’s voice to vomit. It hurt. It seeped into the gashes in his throat torn by the glass-air and _burned_ on the way up. When he was done, he wasn't sure that the wetness on his face was from the rain alone.

“Oh my god… Nele…” He felt something wipe around his mouth, and then a soft hand touched his cheek, wiping something else away. “Manny, we need to get help. You've got a phone! Call someone!” Nele blearily cracked open his eyes. The world seemed darker now, and some distant corner of his mind registered that the hyperventilation, combined with the running and adrenaline rush, was going to make him pass out.

The voice had been female, and he squinted up at the blurry shape that he assumed was her face.

“Who am I going to call? I’ve got no service, and we have no clue where we are!”

“Well, run back down the road or something!” As the hand on his cheek continued to slowly and softly wipe his cheek, Nele blinked and saw a very familiar face looking down at him. His breath started coming faster again as his eyes widened. He thought that she might have smiled. It only made it worse. “Hey, Nele. Calm down, breathe. It’s going to be okay, we’re here. It’s okay.”

The edges of his already fuzzy vision began to darken, and he fought to keep his eyes open. Despite his broken and bruised windpipe, he weakly croaked out her name between gasps of air that still seemed sharp. “... Nell…” With a surge of the last remaining strength that he didn’t know he had, he reached his arm towards her. His shaking fingers caught something and he pulled, bringing her closer.

Her hair was just like he remembered, short and cropped close, but her face had softened out slightly since he’d last seen her. Her eyes were different too (though he couldn’t pinpoint why), but there was no mistaking her. “Nell…” Her name was like acid, burning his throat, but he pressed on. He had to say it. He had failed. He had failed, failed _failed_ … “I’m sorry…” He fought valiantly against his heavy eyelids, but still they slid closed.

He thought he might have heard her say his name, and he clung to it as he passed out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Concerns? Characterization issues? Edits? Did I miss a tag you want me to add? Feel free to tell me.


End file.
